Castello Moretti
by Constance1
Summary: Weary of his life as an Auror, Harry decides to take on a job as a summer farm hand at an Italian vineyard while he sorts out what to do with the rest of his life. As luck would have it, the vineyard turns out to be owned by Draco Malfoy, who is also trying to make a better life for himself. A summer drarry romance with light angst, short chapters, and loads of shameless smut.
1. New Beginnings

Harry rested his chin on his worn duffel bag while he gazed out the window of the bus as it bumped and rattled along the dusty farm road. The Italian summer sun was streaming in through the glass and warming his face as he stared out at the landscape with interest.

At thirty-three years of age, Harry had suddenly decided that being an Auror wasn't what he actually wanted to do with the rest of his life. Hermione had called it a 'premature mid-life crisis' and he suspected she was right. Everything about his daily routine had suddenly become meaningless and mind-numbingly tedious. He spent more time signing paperwork then he did out in the field, and even when he _was_ out in the field, the thrill of the chase or a complicated investigation couldn't hold his attention anymore; his heart just wasn't in it.

The problem was he also couldn't think of an appealing alternative. He was anxious to quit and move on, but nothing was jumping out at him.

Then one day on his lunch break, he saw a recruitment posting in _The Quibbler_ for summer farm hands in northern Italy. The listing explained that the wizarding family who owned a large Muggle-friendly vineyard near Merano, Italy required extra help for the busy 'vendemmia' season, or grape harvest time, and were looking to take on about ten extra employees from August through to late November.

It wasn't a potential new career but it sounded like a brilliant diversion until he could sort something else out. Plus, he'd never been to Italy.

He had immediately signed up and given notice to the Ministry that same day.

Harry smiled at the colourful farms passing by outside the window; they were all so appealing and well-kept. He hoped Castello Moretti was just as pleasant; it certainly looked beautiful in all of the photographs. It was an ancient castle which had been turned into a hotel, restaurant, and full-sized vineyard and winery operation.

Harry furtively glanced around the quiet bus, trying not to attract any attention. There were about seven other people sitting on the bus from the pre-arranged pick-up location near Bergamo. There were three females and four males, all varying greatly in age. Everyone was sitting on their own except for two girls who were sitting huddled together in the back of the bus, talking quietly.

Harry quickly looked back out the window and pulled his dark blue hat down over his forehead when one of them glanced his way.

Fortunately, no one had recognised him thus far and he hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible. He really didn't want to answer questions about why he'd quit such a prestigious Ministry job in order to pick fruit.

Mostly because he really didn't have an answer to that.

The pale yellow and orange bus turned off of the main road and began to trundle up a long dusty drive towards the main house which Harry recognised from the photos. It was a castle but it was modest and consisted of a rectangular section made of stone with two small turrets off to the left side. A white and glass conservatory was added to the rear of the building many years after the castle was originally constructed and which now housed the small but elegant dining area. The guest rooms were all located in the right-hand side of the castle and Harry knew that there was a secondary building behind the rear garden that contained the staff quarters.

The bus drew up to the left side of the castle and groaned to a stop in the shadow of the front turret.

Harry gathered his things and piled out of the bus along with the others, the heat of the day hitting him the moment he stepped out onto the gravel drive. It wouldn't be long before his green t-shirt would be sticking to his skin. The cool air of the bus had made him forget about the oppressive summer heat on the outside. He had a sudden flash of uncertainty about picking fruit all day in these sorts of conditions.

"Benvenuti al Castello Moretti."

Harry turned at the sound of the smooth male voice - and gaped in shock.

"What the…?" he whispered under his breath, watching as Draco Malfoy walked towards the small group in charcoal grey trousers and a white button-up shirt. His hair was light brown instead of platinum blond, and he looked a lot older than the last time Harry had set eyes on him at the Death Eater trials, but there was no mistaking that the tall man approaching them was Malfoy.

Harry quickly stepped behind the older gentleman next to him, trying to hide from Malfoy's roving gaze. He tipped his chin down and hid his face beneath the long brim of his hat.

"I'm afraid that's nearly the extent of my Italian," Malfoy continued, sounding so confident and relaxed that it nearly made Harry doubt the Slytherin's true identity. "Welcome to Castello Moretti. I am Damien Moretti."

Harry frowned and peeked out from under his brim. _No you're not_, he wanted to say.

The group all smiled at Malfoy as though he was some sort of normal, friendly bloke and Harry's frown deepened; nettled by Malfoy's act.

He could tell these people a thing or two about the _real_ Draco Malfoy – or Damien Moretti, whatever he was going by now. Malfoy hadn't deserved to go to Azkaban after the war but he wasn't _nice_. Harry's broken nose could attest to that.

Harry peeked up at the others and he could tell straight away that they didn't recognise Malfoy. He supposed it _had_ been about fifteen years since Lucius Malfoy's son had last been mentioned in the papers, and without the trademark blond hair or superior sneer…

Harry shook his head and tried to focus on what the prat was saying.

"… long journey, so we have dinner prepared for you in the staff dining hall. I'll show you to your rooms where you may leave your things and then return to the dining area. I will be eating with you tonight to answer any questions you may have about Castello Moretti and to remind you of some of our rules. You must be famished so I won't delay you a moment longer."

Harry narrowed his eyes as Malfoy turned to stride officiously towards the rear garden.

Harry trailed after the others, dragging his feet in order to remain concealed behind the rest of the group. He didn't know why he was bothering, Malfoy was going to spot him at some point. He just needed time to adjust to the shock of seeing his old nemesis living in Italy with a fake name and running a bloody vineyard of all things. Malfoy still had that slightly haughty look to him and posh accent, but his tone and his expression were so untroubled and easy. He was distinctly self-assured and poised, so different to the snivelling wanker he'd been at school.

Harry scowled at the two girls ahead of him when they suddenly burst into giggles while gazing appreciatively at Malfoy's backside in his perfectly tailored trousers.

That was the other thing that was bothering him; the wanker had also grown quite handsome. His features were now refined rather than pointy, and his body was tall and lean with just the right amount of muscle.

Horrified by the disturbing direction of his thoughts, Harry swiftly wrenched his gaze away from Malfoy's arse and looked around at his surroundings instead as the small group made their way across the lush expanse of green grass. The area was bordered by large, vibrant garden beds on all sides. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the castle behind them and recognised the pretty conservatory from the photographs. It looked quite intimate in person and appeared to hold about twenty small dining tables.

Harry turned back around as they approached the staff accommodation. It was a simple stone building with white paned windows and a tall hedge surrounding it on three sides, presumably to give the workers some privacy from the paying guests. Beyond the building Harry could see acres and acres of what he assumed were grape plants in long neat rows across the hilly countryside.

It wasn't a huge operation but it was big enough, and Harry could grudgingly admit that it was all well-maintained and very beautiful.

It probably would have been an enjoyable experience if not for Malfoy's presence.

Harry walked through the black painted door behind the others and followed them across the main room, which consisted of a kitchen, lounge, and dining area. The long wooden dining table was already laid out with a delicious smelling meal.

Malfoy led the group through the spacious room to a wide doorway on the other side.

Through the doorway was a long hallway with about a dozen doors. Each door was painted a different colour and had a name plaque fixed to the centre of it.

Malfoy turned around and Harry quickly ducked behind the tall man with the dark hair beside him.

"Choose any room that does not currently have a name on it," he instructed, waving an arm towards the colourful doors. "If you are here with friends or family and wish to share a room, there are only two rooms still available with more than one bed."

One of the two giggly girls raised her hand. "We'd like to share a room please!" she said, clearly concerned that they might miss out.

Malfoy pointed to the yellow door down the corridor and the two girls grinned and dashed off to their new home.

The rest of the group then began to slowly drift towards the remaining doors and Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably as he lost his only form of cover.

With a sigh of resignation, Harry shifted his duffel bag up higher on his shoulder and walked towards the blue door that was on the other side of Malfoy, thinking that he might as well get it over with.

Malfoy aimed a vague smile in his direction as he approached and Harry could see the instant that Malfoy recognised him; his face went sort of slack and his skin paled as grey eyes widened in shock. He looked truly panicked for all of three seconds and then his professional demeanour slid back into place.

"Welcome," Malfoy said to him, his tone containing only the slightest of steely edges to it. "I'll help you to your room."

Harry nearly snorted, finding the situation amusing now that Malfoy was the one who was caught by surprise.

Malfoy followed him through the blue painted door and then shut it behind them.

Malfoy faced him and crossed his arms over his chest as Harry tossed his bag onto the bed and waited for the explosion.

"Potter."

"Moretti." Harry smirked.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, clearly not amused. "It's not a crime to change your name."

"I never said it was."

"Then why are you here?"

Harry frowned in bemusement. "What do you mean? I'm here to pick grapes."

Malfoy's eyes flared. "Don't give me that Potter, I know you're an Auror, you're not here to pick fucking grapes."

Harry removed his hat with a sigh and ruffled a hand through his flattened hair. "Actually, I _am_ here to pick grapes. I had no idea you'd be here."

"So you're just on a little holiday from the Ministry then?" Malfoy asked scornfully.

"No I quit."

Malfoy opened his mouth and then closed it again as the sound of the others wandering out of their rooms towards the dining hall reached them.

They stared at each other in silence, and then, for some inexplicable reason, Harry suddenly felt sorry for him. What if Malfoy really _had_ changed and was trying to make a new life for himself here. Harry had been the one to secure his freedom during the Death Eater trials after all, so he must believe there's good in Malfoy somewhere. Deep down.

"I won't tell anyone who you are," Harry finally offered charitably.

Malfoy gave him a frown that was equal parts annoyed and confused. He turned away and opened the door, leaving without another word.

Harry rolled his eyes and tossed his hat onto the bed with a sigh. It was going to be a looooong four months.


	2. Our Cast

Harry took a deep, bracing breath and walked out into the staff dining area.

The others were still gradually seating themselves around the long table, looking about the room with interest as they settled in. Malfoy was seated at the head of the table, unfolding his cloth napkin over his lap with a sharp little jerk; clearly still rattled from their encounter.

Harry took a seat at the other end of the table, as far away from him as possible. He smiled in greeting at the two men seated next to him; one was an older gentleman who looked to be in his late sixties and the other one was the tall brunette whom he'd hidden behind earlier.

The older one spoke first, extending his right hand with a smile. "Hullo, I'm Barclay," he said with a thick accent that Harry couldn't quite place.

"Hi, I'm Harry." Harry returned the smile as he shook his hand; surprised by the strength of his grip. "Where are you from?"

"Paeroa, New Zealand," Barclay replied proudly, still smiling. "And I reckon you're a pommy."

Harry blinked. "A what?"

Barclay chuckled, brown eyes crinkling. "From the British Aisles."

"Oh, yeah, I guess I am then," Harry said with a slow smile; liking him immediately.

"I'm Emery."

Harry turned to the tall brunette on his right and shook his hand. "Harry."

Emery smiled and acknowledged Barclay with a nod of greeting. "'Fraid I'm another bloody pommy," he said to Barclay, causing the senior to guffaw with laughter. "Not as famous as this one though," he added with a nod towards Harry.

"Famous eh?" Barclay replied, eyeing Harry curiously.

"Never heard of Harry Potter in New Zealand?"

"Yeah, course we've heard of him, just haven't seen him much since he was a teenager. So you're him all grown up are you?"

"Er yeah," Harry answered uncomfortably.

"What are you doing _here_?" Emery asked with interest.

"Mid-life crisis," Harry quipped with a shrug.

The other two laughed and Barclay clapped him on the shoulder.

"Bit young for that Mister Potter," he said, smiling. "But you've come to the right place. I've been travelling the world since I was in my early forties; working different vineyards and farms, earning my keep and meeting new people, then moving on to the next adventure."

"Wow," Harry replied, impressed. "That sounds brilliant."

"You don't get lonely?" Emery asked curiously as he reached for a bread roll and placed it on his plate.

"Not at all, went through a bit of a nasty divorce just before I turned forty and never had any children, so now my family are the people I meet and work with all around the world."

Harry smiled; it all sounded wonderfully free and spontaneous, but he knew he could never live like that for long.

"Welcome again to Castello Moretti."

The three of them turned to the head of the table as Malfoy stood and began to speak to the group. He was addressing the entire table but Harry noticed that he deliberately avoided making eye-contact with him. Malfoy also appeared to be a little more stiff and uncomfortable than he was earlier; before he was aware of Harry's presence.

"I hope everyone is satisfied with their room," he continued. "If you have any issues with the lodging then please let me know. As I mentioned earlier, I am one of the owners of Castello Moretti and the Manager of Operations."

Harry absently wondered who the other owner was and whether it was Malfoy's wife, if he had one. It was odd to think that he really didn't know anything about this strange, grown-up version of Draco Malfoy.

"Just a quick reminder that our guests are both Muggle _and_ magical. The staff are strictly made up of witches and wizards though, as we have developed some magical methods for our wine-making process which we obviously can not divulge to Muggles. The rest of the staff are currently on dinner service and will join you later this evening. Your hours were specified in your contract, with one full day off per week and the opportunity for late afternoons to yourself on most days. If there aren't any pressing questions, then I believe we may eat this wonderful meal that our cook has prepared. And of course you may ask me anything during the meal or at any other time if I have a moment to spare."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes; the pompous git made himself sound very important indeed.

Harry began to fill his plate with bits from every single one of the wonderful dishes spread out over the worn wooden table. It all looked and smelt _so_ delicious. He'd always heard good things about authentic Italian food and it certainly didn't disappoint. There were large oval plates heaped with fresh vegetables creating a riot of colour amongst the platters of sweet-smelling meat, wooden boards piled high with different types of crispy bread and soft rolls, and there were even a few pizzas that didn't look anything like the pizza he was used to.

He reached for the nearest bottle of wine and peered at the label with interest. The label itself had a faux aged look to it as though it was about a hundred years old, and it had 'Moretti' scrawled across it in fancy black script. The back of the bottle had the same yellowed paper label with a small black sketch of the castle at the bottom and above that was what Harry was quite certain was a long-winded and pretentious write-up about hints of this and nodes of that.

Harry snorted softly to himself as he poured a small glass of wine and then began to eat.

"Are you who I think you are?"

Harry winced as a loud female voice suddenly pierced the quiet of everyone enjoying their meal. He glanced up to see the two giggly girls looking at him with wide awestruck eyes.

Harry set down his fork with a sigh, when he looked back up to respond his gaze caught the expression on Malfoy's face and he nearly choked with laughter; the man looked _furious_. He was clearly displeased that his old school rival was here stealing all the attention again.

Harry couldn't help smiling at the girls; suddenly unconcerned by the spotlight because winding up Malfoy still felt pretty bloody great.

"I don't know, who do you _think_ I am?" he asked pleasantly.

The two girls giggled. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" the one with the sandy-blonde hair replied.

He nodded in confirmation, gaze flicking to Malfoy again. He was quite enjoying himself now.

"Wow, can I get your autograph?"

Harry swallowed the snort of laughter with difficulty; Malfoy looked like his head was about to explode. "Maybe later," he replied vaguely, not wanting the girl to suddenly leap up from the table in order to hunt down a quill and some paper. "What's your name?"

"Katie-Ann," she replied breathlessly, still looking star-struck. "This is Heather," she quickly added when her friend nudged her with her elbow.

"What are you doing here?" the striking brown-skinned woman next to Emery asked Harry before either of the two girls could speak again. "If you're under cover you're not doing a very good job of it, are you? I'm Hafsa by the way," she added as an afterthought.

Harry shook his head. "I'm no longer employed by the Ministry; I'm just here to work - like the rest of you."

"Do you even _have_ to work?" Katie-Ann interjected impertinently.

"How about we leave Mister Potter alone and move on to other topics?" Barclay said with a disapproving frown at the girl.

"Yes, why don't you go around the table and introduce yourselves?" Malfoy interrupted, looking like he desperately wanted to regain control of the situation again. "Except for you Pot- Mister Potter. I believe we are all well acquainted with _your_ story."

Harry hid a smirk in his wine glass.

"I'll start," Hafsa spoke up confidently. "As I said, my name is Hafsa. I moved from Juipur, India to London about eleven years ago. I recently lost my job in Farringdon and couldn't find another one straight away, so… I'm here to try something new and to have a bit of a break while I wait for a position to come up somewhere else. I also really love wine."

Some of the others chuckled while Malfoy smiled at her, appearing to have recovered some of his earlier composure. "Welcome Hafsa, I hope you enjoy your time with us."

And around the table it went, everyone introducing themselves and telling their story. There were two young men fresh out of school: Adam from Canada and Jamie from Wales, who had also attended Hogwarts. The two girls, Heather and Katie-Ann, were both from Southend-on-Sea and seemed quite silly and not very bright, and then there was Emery, who was originally from Germany and moved to Scotland when he was a teenager. He was a year younger than Harry and was a teacher at a small wizarding primary school in Edinburgh. He'd signed up because he'd wanted to keep busy and earn some extra money over the summer break.

Harry noted with no small amount of relief that everyone - except Barclay - was new to the winery industry.

Harry nearly moaned as he bit into a slice of pizza; the intense taste of the fresh tomato sauce and warm, melted cheese burst over his taste buds. He could see why the Italians didn't pile their pizzas with loads of ingredients – it didn't need it. Just the mouth-watering tomato sauce with some basil and melted cheese on top of a thin crispy flatbread was more than enough. Everything he sampled from the table was the same: fresh and delicious and overflowing with flavour.

The food really was better than anything he'd ever tasted before.

During the meal, Malfoy quietly answered a few more general questions about the property's history and the business.

Harry had to reluctantly admit that the Slytherin was very knowledgeable about the vineyard, and, not only that, sounded quite passionate about it too. He'd clearly found something he was interested in and, considering his turbulent past, it was easy to see why he sounded so proud of it too.

They finally finished the meal and Malfoy told them all that breakfast would be served at six o'clock the next morning, then they would head out for their first day in the fields at seven sharp. He said the early hours were mostly because it became too unbearably hot mid-afternoon to continue. It also ensured that enough work was completed before the end of the day so that they could always reach their targets.

They were all slowly trickling back to their rooms after pudding when Malfoy abruptly approached him.

"Mister Potter," he said stiffly, conscious of the others still lingering nearby. "May I speak with you a moment outside?"

Harry looked at him in surprise but nodded in agreement and followed him out the door.

The evening air was cooling off a little, the light breeze wafting the fragrant scent of roses up from the bushes surrounding the stone cottage, and the sky was awash with bright pinks and oranges as the sun set beyond the sloping hills of the vineyard. It was certainly a beautiful part of the country.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he stopped and turned to Malfoy expectantly.

"You're not actually staying, are you?" Malfoy asked at once.

Harry blinked. "Erm, yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

Malfoy's eyes flared. "Let me rephrase that: you're not staying Potter."

Harry's hot temper suddenly licked at his insides at the sharply issued command. "Actually, I _am_ staying. I signed a contract and you owe me a job."

"If its money you need, I'll pay you a full salary to leave first thing in the morning."

"I don't need the money," Harry bristled.

"Because you're still an Auror," Malfoy replied acerbically.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not-"

"Then I'll secure you a position with another vineyard."

Harry paused, wondering why Malfoy was so desperate to get rid of him.

"Why?"

Malfoy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you want me to leave so badly?"

Malfoy huffed out an impatient breath. "I would have thought that was obvious Potter."

"Well it's not," Harry snapped peevishly.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at his tone. "You're either still an Auror sent here to stick your unwanted nose in my affairs and to cause trouble with the Ministry for me," he replied coldly. "_Or_, you really are here merely to work – but being who you are, you will bring unwanted attention to this vineyard and in turn to me. I realise you are quite dense Potter, but even _you_ can surely see that I'm attempting to remain inconspicuous."

Harry took a breath, wondering if his blood pressure would handle being in constant contact with Draco Malfoy for the next four months anyway.

"I'm not lying about being an Auror, Malfoy," he finally replied evenly. "Check an old issue of _The Prophet_ if you don't believe me."

Malfoy snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Harry's stance. "I don't read that tripe."

"Well if you did, you'd know that I quit." Harry paused and ran a hand through his hair, which was still rather filthy after hours of travel. It had been a long day and he really just wanted a quick shower and then to hop into bed. "Why don't you just make the others promise not to tell anyone that I'm here? Or make them sign some sort of non-disclosure agreement?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and looked away. "I can't make them sign something like that Potter, don't be stupid." He huffed in agitation. "What about working at another vineyard?" he tried again.

Harry looked at Malfoy with his weirdly brown hair and serious expression and something compelled him to stay right where he was.

"I like the people here," he replied with a shrug. "We bonded on the bus."

"You did not!" Malfoy replied in exasperation. "They didn't even recognise you until dinner."

"Barclay and I go way back," Harry replied with a smirk, holding his ground.

Malfoy glared. "I could _make_ you leave Potter. I own this property and I don't have to let you stay."

"You could," Harry replied calmly. "But then I could bring the press here on purpose."

Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction. "Are you blackmailing me Potter?"

Harry smiled. "Sounds like it."

Malfoy looked like he was about to lose it; jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared at Harry.

"Look, I'll speak to the others and tell them not to say anything to anyone," Harry said before the man could explode.

Malfoy sighed, visibly deflating as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Harry almost felt sorry for him; he clearly didn't want anyone to discover his true identity.

"Or I could just _Obliviate_ them and then disguise myself," Harry continued thoughtfully. "Lose the glasses and maybe go blond?"

Malfoy looked up at him then and snorted softly, his tense posture relaxing a fraction as the corner of his mouth twitched up in reluctant amusement. "You could never pull off blond Potter." He shook his head. "Don't Obliviate them, I don't need the Ministry finding out that I'm illegally erasing people's memories. Just speak to them, and if they agree to keep quiet, then I suppose you can stay. If you must."

Harry smiled, victorious. "I must."

Malfoy rolled his eyes but remained wary. "I still think you're here to investigate us," he eventually said.

"Us?"

"Us - the vineyard," Malfoy replied with a wave of his hand at the surrounding land.

"Do you really think I would just show up to work here and expect you not to recognise me?" Harry replied. "I still recognised _you_ and you certainly don't look the same as you did the last time I saw you."

Malfoy shifted and absently adjusted the cuff of his white button-up shirt. "Yes well, I am no longer seventeen years old," he replied, then looked at Harry with a concentrated frown, as though deciphering a puzzle. "And neither are you. Goodnight Potter."

Harry watched as Malfoy abruptly turned on his heel and began to stride back towards the stone castle, head held high and shoulders stiff.

The windows of the castle were now lit with the warm, yellow glow of dozens of candles, illuminating the elegantly dressed couples who were seated at the cosy dining tables within; enjoying their evening meal.

Harry watched Malfoy's retreating back, wondering just what it was that had always captured his attention when it came to Draco Malfoy. Ron and Hermione had always accused him of being obsessed with Malfoy and he was beginning to wonder if they were right. He just loved to needle the rigidly composed Slytherin like no other person he'd ever met before. Or since.

Harry sighed and turned back towards the employee's cottage, already looking forward to a nice hot shower and a good night's sleep before starting this new chapter of his life.


	3. A Revelation

It took Harry a minute to remember where he was when he woke the next morning, and then another few minutes to remember that he didn't have to trudge into the Ministry and sit at that bloody desk _ever again_.

He nearly shuddered thinking about that cramped little desk squashed into that tiny cubicle with the pile of red folders that, no matter how many cases he closed, never seemed to shrink. Where urgent memos would flap about his head all day long, each one proclaiming to be more critical than the last, and where his fellow Aurors would interrupt him at least once an hour to ask his opinion on one of their cases, as though he was an expert on every sort of criminal activity out there just because he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry exhaled; the tension in his neck and shoulders slowly releasing as he sank back down into the incredibly soft mattress beneath him.

That monotonous - yet highly demanding and stressful – way of life seemed a world away from where he was now. He smiled as he gazed up at the soft beams of sunshine streaming in through the square window above his head, illuminating the lazy swirl of dust motes as they danced through the air. He'd left the window open overnight and the fresh morning air filled the cosy white room and imbued him with an inexplicable sense of calm. There was no traffic noise, or even people noise, just the lovely sound of birdsong and the light breeze rustling the rose bushes beneath his window.

His body was apparently still trained to awaken at the crack of dawn, so he pushed aside the thin summer bedclothes and began to dress for his first day. He hadn't known what to pack for this sort of work, the job posting never mentioned a uniform, so he'd brought loads of t-shirts, shorts, two warm jumpers, and one pair of jeans. He slipped into a pair of shorts and one of his new t-shirts, and then pulled on a comfortable pair of trainers before heading out into the hall.

There was a strange man in the kitchen; standing at the counter and placing different meats and cheeses on a wooden board.

"Good morning," Harry greeted as he walked over.

The dark-haired man glanced up with a smile. "Buongiorno!" he replied. "Good morning."

The man was obviously Italian and Harry hoped he could pick up a little of the language while he was there.

"I'm Harry."

"Marco," he replied in a friendly manner. "I am one of the chefs. Would you care for some tea or perhaps a caffe latte?"

"Tea would be brilliant," Harry replied gratefully. He spotted the stack of cups and steaming pot of tea set out on the table and wandered over. He poured himself a cup and then sat in one of the chairs facing Marco as the man worked. "Did you grow up around here Marco?"

"No, I am from Bolzano. It is not far from here. Have you come to Italy before?"

"Nope, first time," Harry replied, sliding his hands around his teacup and enjoying the gentle warmth as it seeped into his skin. "I'm from London, which is very different to here."

Marco smiled and nodded as he walked over to place the wooden platter in the centre of the table and then returned to the kitchen to start filling some baskets with bread. "It is very _veloce_ – fast there. People eat very fast and they walk very fast." 

Harry chuckled. "And sometimes they eat _as_ they walk."

Marco shook his head, clearly appalled.

Harry smirked and quickly took another sip of his tea; _he_ was one of those people who ate as they walked to work in the morning, or grabbed a quick bite at _Pret A Manger _on his lunch break without really paying attention to whatever dry, stale sandwich he was actually eating.

Fortunately, Barclay the New Zealander walked in then and saved him from confessing as much to Marco.

The three of them chatted until Marco had to leave to prepare breakfast for the guests up at the castle.

Eventually everyone else began to trickle in and sit at the table, commenting on the lovely spread as they ate and chatted with the people sitting next to them.

Harry enjoyed the food, but he normally consumed something a lot more substantial. He suspected the Italians were too sophisticated for his favourite breakfast of eggs, sausages and beans on buttered toast.

Malfoy eventually showed up just before seven to collect them all. He announced that they would be going on a tour of the entire operation to see first-hand how a winery worked and to learn about the winemaking process at every stage before they began their work for the day.

Harry decided to hang back at the rear of the group, hoping to avoid any further conflict with Malfoy. He hoped their last conversation meant that they had a sort of unspoken truce and he didn't wish to inadvertently irritate the other man or put him on his guard while he was trying to educate them on the finer points of wine-making.

The group slowly made their way across the grounds towards the endless rows of grape plants which dotted the gently sloping landscape. Harry smiled in greeting as Emery fell into step beside him, still munching on one of the crunchy breadsticks from breakfast.

"Can I confess something?" Emery whispered as they walked along.

"Er, yes?" Harry replied curiously.

"I don't drink wine," Emery admitted with a barely concealed grin. "In fact, I can't stand the stuff."

Harry laughed, unable to help himself.

"Do you think that will count against me?"

"Just don't tell Mal- er, that Moretti bloke," Harry replied in amusement. "He's a bit of an upper-class wanker."

Emery laughed and Harry bit his lip when Malfoy shot a suspicious frown at the two of them over his shoulder.

"I think you're right there," Emery commented with an amused glance at Malfoy as he turned away, once again wearing another perfectly pressed white button-up shirt and walking with head held high.

Harry felt slightly guilty for making fun of him, but Malfoy had definitely done his fair share of mocking Harry in his day.

Of course, they weren't children anymore, but Harry steadfastly ignored _that_ particular part of his conscience.

The small group walked between the long rows with interest, gazing around at the bright green plants all around them. It was another beautiful day but the morning air was still relatively cool and there was a light breeze blowing through, causing the grape vines to gently sway above their heads.

Malfoy stopped and waited for the group to catch up before speaking.

"The first step to wine-making, besides planting of course, is the harvesting of the grapes," he explained, reaching out and plucking one of the deep purple fruits from off of a nearby vine and holding it up to the light. "There is no exact science to knowing when the perfect time is to pick the grapes, but I like to do it the old fashioned way." He then proceeded to pop the grape into his mouth. "Go on, try one," he urged with a small nod towards the row of grape plants next to them.

Harry reached out and pulled a plump grape from off of the vine next to him. He looked at the dusty purple grape pinched between his fingers for a moment and then tossed it into his mouth. The potent little fruit was sweet but also a little tart as well.

"What we're looking for is the perfect balance between acidity and sweetness," Malfoy continued, removing a white cloth from his trouser pocket and wiping his hands on it. "With the weather we've experienced this year, the time to harvest is now, which is slightly earlier than usual. Your job is to carefully remove each bunch and place them all into one of those baskets."

Harry glanced over at the group of tall wicker baskets lined with cream-coloured cloth sitting on the ground.

"Because this is a Muggle-friendly property, this must be done by hand and not magic."

Jamie, the recent graduate from Hogwarts, let out a low whistle as they all turned to look out over the massive grounds.

Malfoy smirked a little at their expressions. His gaze met Harry's for a moment and Harry thought he detected a hint of a challenge there; as though he didn't think Harry would be able to endure such menial work.

Harry held his gaze and raised a brow in return; little did Malfoy know that his Muggle relatives subjected him to hours of physical labour out in the garden, under much worse conditions than this. At least he was fed proper meals here, and had an actual bed instead of a cramped little cupboard.

Malfoy turned away and addressed the group. "Now I will show you where the grapes are taken once they have been picked."

"Why would you insist on wearing pale trousers and a white shirt for a farm tour?" Emery whispered aside, brown eyes on Malfoy ahead of them as they walked down the slope towards the rear of the property.

Harry snorted; he'd been wondering the same thing himself.

"You don't care for him much do you?" Harry commented with a grin.

Emery smiled. "I dislike pretentious wankers who think they're better than others just because they have money," he said with a shrug. "He's fit though, I'll give him that."

Harry grimaced before he could help himself and Emery laughed.

"Not your type?"

"It's not that, he just reminds me of a bloke I went to school with," Harry answered carefully. "He was an uptight prat too."

Emery chuckled as he followed Harry into a large wooden building with the others.

The building had a high pitched roof and concrete flooring, and looked like it had been a barn at one point in its life. It had a pleasant heritage appearance but had obviously been renovated and converted to fit the winery operation.

They circled around what looked like a large steel funnel next to a long table with a spout on the end.

"This is what the grapes are deposited into from the baskets," Malfoy began, pointing at the shiny funnel contraption. "This is the only magical part of the process. The steel drum will crush the grapes while vanishing any of the fruit which is rotten or undesirable with a complex _Evanesco_ charm that has been woven into the container itself."

From his smug tone, Harry guessed that Malfoy had devised the charm himself.

"From there, the mixture will be deposited onto this table which drains through this steel spout and into a waiting barrel." He paused and then pointed to an oversized oak barrel to their right which had a small set of stairs leading up to the top. "The barrel over here is where guests can be a part of the wine-making process if they so desire, by crushing the grapes in the age-old way of using their bare feet."

Harry nearly snorted out loud at the barely concealed disgust on Malfoy's face.

"Do you actually _use_ what they make?" Barclay asked with interest.

Malfoy turned to him with a wry smile. "No - but don't tell the guests that."

The group chuckled and then followed Malfoy onwards to the other side of the large room. Harry frowned; he couldn't quite reconcile this strange, socially adept man with the Draco Malfoy of his youth. And perhaps what Harry had thought of as 'smug' was actually just genuine pride at what he'd accomplished.

"This is where the crushed mixture is sent next for the fermentation process," Malfoy explained as the group stopped in front of two large steel drums against the far wall. "This stage lasts anywhere between ten days and a month, depending on the type of wine we are endeavouring to create."

They moved on past the shiny steel drums and into the next room which was filled with row upon row of oak barrels.

Malfoy stopped in the centre of the room and spread his arms wide. "And this is where the clarification process is carried out, meaning the stage in which the different solids within the wine are removed. At Castello Moretti, we like to clarify the wine by adding clay to the liquid. The unwanted particles adhere to the clay and are then forced to the bottom of the tank for easy removal. Some vineyards remove the particles by filtration system but I find those affect the full-bodied flavour of the wine."

Harry wanted to scoff, and Emery was currently smirking next to him, but something in Malfoy's demeanour gave him pause; he seemed to lack any real arrogance.

Perhaps Harry had been right earlier when he wondered if it was healthy pride and the simple enjoyment of sharing his knowledge that was driving Malfoy, and he wasn't _actually_ being a pompous arse. He still needed to lighten up and loosen the cufflinks, but he wasn't as haughty as what he used to be. Or what his father had been.

"The final step in the process is the aging of the wine," Malfoy continued. "Which may be carried out in different types of containers, but an oak barrel produces a smoother, rounder flavour, so that is what we use here. A lighter red wine is aged and ready for consumption within about five years, and a nice, rich red will be at its best at about ten to fifteen years. We use a natural cork in all of our bottles so the wine continues to age even once it has been bottled. The actual bottling of the wine is done offsite but everything else is done here on the property."

Harry couldn't help but be impressed; the time and effort required to manage not just the winery operation, but the hotel and guest accommodation as well, would be an enormous undertaking. And Malfoy seemed to be responsible for a great deal of it himself.

"Any questions before you get started for the day?"

"Do you only serve your own wine in the dining room?" Hafsa asked with a smile.

Harry blinked when Malfoy actually smiled back at her.

"Yes and no," he replied. "If a guest wishes to have a white wine, then we have a few different labels to choose from, but when it comes to red, then yes, we only serve Castello Moretti wine."

"Because it's the best?" Katie-Ann asked with a flutter of her eyelashes, causing Harry to roll his eyes.

"Because it's what the guests expect to drink while staying with us," he replied matter-of-factly. "Any other questions?"

"Yes, how long have you owned this property for?" Harry piped up.

Malfoy looked resigned as he turned to him but his tone was congenial when he replied, "it has been in the Moretti family for generations."

Harry smiled as Malfoy neatly dodged the question. "And has it always been a winery?" he asked.

"No, that is a recent development. It was a bed and breakfast prior to the addition of the vineyard."

Harry nodded as though fascinated. "Is wine making in your family then?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, clearly wishing for Harry to stop talking. "It is now," he replied stiffly.

Harry nodded, laughter bubbling up in his stomach. "Interesting," he replied around a grin that couldn't be suppressed.

Malfoy glared at him and then abruptly turned away. "If that is all, then you may return to the orchard to begin your work for the day. You will start from the near end of the orchard, closest to the castle, and you will work two to a basket. Each basket contains two pairs of secateurs for you to clip the grapes from the vine with. Once the basket is full, you will place it on the back of the waiting truck and it will be taken away, then you will continue on with a fresh basket. Lunch is at noon in the staff kitchen. Have a good first day everyone."

"Yes sir," Harry muttered under his breath as Malfoy gave them a short nod and then strode back through the building towards the exit.

"He doesn't care for you much, does he?" Emery asked with a puzzled frown as the group slowly moved back outdoors.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Nope."

"I would've thought he'd welcome a celebrity to his establishment; might bring in some extra business."

Harry made a face. "Please don't call me that, and er, I wouldn't allow him use my name like that," he added, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't really want anyone finding out that I'm here, I just want a bit of a break, you know?"

Emery smiled and nodded. "Of course, my lips are sealed."

Harry flashed him a grateful smile as they walked towards the orchard; he truly did want a bit of a break from the press, but he also wanted to respect Malfoy's wishes of not bringing_ The Prophet_ down on his head and discovering his secret.

If there was one thing Harry could understand, it was the desire to live your life in peace.

He suddenly remembered that he still needed to ask the others not to say anything, as per Malfoy's stipulation for him to remain employed there.

Harry and Emery got to work, sharing one of the tall baskets between them, as they each began to carefully clip off the large bunches of grapes hanging on the long twisting vines.

Harry quickly relaxed into the work as he moved along the row; his mind wandering pleasantly as he swiftly grew comfortable with the task.

It was the furthest thing from working at the Ministry as it could be; from being stuck indoors with no windows, horrible flickering lighting, loads of paperwork, and feeling mentally exhausted by the end of every shift, to standing outside with the scent of freshly turned soil and grape vines filling his nostrils, the sound of the birds all around, and a slowly rising sun gradually brightening the rolling green landscape as far as the eye could see.

Harry exhaled and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, enjoying the quiet serenity. Everyone else seemed to feel the same way because no one was talking, likely finding the work to be a pleasant escape from their usual grind.

Except for Barclay, all of them had come from either a very different job or the stress of schooling, and were happy for the change of scenery and the opportunity for a much-needed mental reprieve.

Harry rolled his right shoulder before reaching up to clip another branch. He suspected that his back and shoulders would be rather stiff and sore come morning, but hopefully his body would become accustomed to the work soon enough.

There was a large barrel of drinking water kept nearby for them, and Harry was grateful for it as the sun continued to climb in the cloudless sky and the temperatures slowly creeped up.

He was standing at the barrel - which he suspected magically refilled itself because the water level never seemed to drop - when he spotted Malfoy standing just outside the glass conservatory with a small group of people. He seemed to be explaining something about the castle as he gestured towards the building, the guests nodding every once in a while or taking photos as he spoke.

Harry leaned his hip against the water barrel, absently drinking from his glass as he watched Malfoy. He had to remind himself that some, if not all, of those guests were Muggle; that Draco Malfoy was smiling politely and educating Muggles about wine-making while happily welcoming them onto his property.

Harry wondered why Malfoy had chosen to open the business to Muggles in the first place, and how in Merlin's name was he able to converse with them and understand what they were talking about when they mentioned things he'd never experienced or even heard of?

Harry frowned as he set his empty glass back down on top of the rounded barrel.

Now that the shock of seeing Malfoy again had worn off, he found that he was dreadfully curious about how this had all come about.

Malfoy began to lead the small group towards the orchard and Harry quickly grabbed his hat from out of his back pocket and pulled it on, lowering the brim to cover his forehead as he turned away and returned to work next to Emery.

"Who are you hiding from?" Emery whispered with a grin, noticing Harry's hat.

Harry nodded his head towards the rapidly approaching group of people.

"Ah I see…"

Harry ignored the gawking guests as they stopped and listened to Malfoy explain something in muted tones nearby. Thankfully they quickly moved on towards the barn building, the rapid clicking of Muggle cameras floating back to Harry on the wind.

Harry reached up with his secateurs for another bunch of grapes.

He absently turned his head to glance after the departing group, and had to do a double-take when he spotted Malfoy looking back over his shoulder, clearly eyeing Harry's exposed torso where his shirt had ridden up.

Malfoy's gaze suddenly darted to Harry's face and he abruptly turned away, facing front as he continued to lead the guests onwards down the slope and out of view.

Harry stared after him, gobsmacked.

Did Malfoy just _check him out_?

Harry quickly turned back to his work, not wanting Emery to ask what was wrong.

Harry snipped a bunch of grapes and then distractedly placed them into the half-empty basket, mind whirring.

He'd just assumed that the prat had eventually married some Pureblooded witch in order to carry on the dwindling Malfoy line and that she was living here on the property somewhere in the lap of luxury.

But now…

Harry swallowed and turned back to the leafy vine.

He was stunned by the revelation, but he was just as stunned by the heat that had flared within him when he'd caught Malfoy's gaze on his body.


End file.
